


Headstrong (I Can Be Wrong)

by red_crate



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Insecurity, M/M, Night Terrors, Pack Feels, Post-Season/Series 03, Roommates, Scent Marking, Scenting, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 20:26:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13395603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/pseuds/red_crate
Summary: “Are we friends?” Stiles waved a hand between the two of them. “This feels kinda like we're friends.” He made a face. “Is that weird?”Jackson raised an eyebrow. “It's weirdnow.” But he smiled anyway.Stiles’ answering grin made Jackson's stomach flip and his wolf strain forward.





	Headstrong (I Can Be Wrong)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lostwithoutmyanchor (mysourwolf)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysourwolf/gifts).



> This is long overdue, but I'm so pleased I could post it by Ari's birthday. 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this and that it makes your day a little bit brighter. Thank you for being patient with me. <3
> 
> All my love to Green for looking this over! I can't express my gratitude enough. <3

The thing was, he'd gotten his dorm assignment email, and it had all the expected info in it: building, number, reminder that it was a co-ed set-up with guys and girls sharing space, rules about behavior and things that aren't allowed. It'd been a lot of information, to be honest, and he'd skimmed the first half before clicking out of the window.

He'd missed the really important bit.

That much was apparent when he turned around from tucking new sheets over the corner of a woefully old mattress to find Stiles staring at him with a look of shock on his face. The scent hit Jackson next—the same musky pine and Tide smell that somehow smacked Jackson right back to sophomore year and the feel of _want, need_ . He stood up gracefully and crossed his arms. Just as he was opening his mouth to say _You've got to be kidding_ , Stiles beat him to it.

He shouldn't have been surprised.

“When the email said _J. Whittemore_ , I had this thought for like a split second of what if it was Jackson.” Stiles took off yammering like Jackson remembered him doing all throughout school. He wasn’t flailing around quite as much though, and there were subtle changes to the way he carried himself. He'd grown more into himself.

Stiles shook his head and dropped the box he'd carried in with himself. “I can't believe it's you.” He sounded less angry or even scared than Jackson would've expected. Stiles didn’t sound excited, but he was not clearly opposed to the revelation.

Jackson didn't really know what to do with that.

Even though he'd chosen, at the prodding of his parents, to go to college back in California, he hadn't pictured seeing anyone he knew from _before_. He'd assumed they'd all be scattered across the country going to Ivy league schools or stuck back in Beacon Hills working shitty hourly jobs.

Jackson felt foolish, standing there. He was looking at the next ten months of his life, going to school and sharing a room with Stiles Stilinski. He should have read the whole email.

Jackson comforted himself with the knowledge that Stiles knew about the werewolf thing already. At least Jackson wouldn’t have to worry about hiding it all the time—or worse: figuring out a way to gently ease his roommate into the reveal.

“What are you doing here?” Jackson asked the one question that kept bouncing around his head, meaning every interpretation of the question possible.

Stiles paused for a beat before rolling his eyes. “God. Please tell me we aren't going to spend the entire year reliving our childhood.” Stiles leaned down to pick up the box again and set it on his desk. His shoulders were tense when he turned away from Jackson.

It seemed like a calculated gesture, and it made Jackson's wolf take interest.

As he popped the tape off the top of his box, Stiles said, “I've been through a lot of shit. We both have, just counting what I _know_ you went through.” Stiles carefully opened the flaps before turning back around and offering a hand to shake.

“Can we just try and put it behind us? I don't have the energy to live with an enemy. I have no interest in making your life hard, so I'd appreciate you returning the favor.”

It was an unexpected olive branch. They didn't part ways in the best of circumstances or on the best of terms, not that Jackson had been upset about that. Nothing about what happened that winter had been what he'd envisioned or hoped for.

Even when he got what he asked for, it hadn't been what he wanted. When he'd kicked the dust off his shoes after leaving Beacon Hills, he'd done so with the bitter thought that he wouldn't have to deal with any of those people again—the ones who always seemed to have their shit together, who seemed to know everything but wouldn't tell him anything.

He didn't miss them. He didn't think about them. He didn't look for them online.

Jackson looked at Stiles’ outstretched hand and took a subtle inhale of that oh so familiar scent. “I don't want any trouble, Stilinski. Keep your shit on your side of the room and stay out of my way.”

He internally grimaced. It seemed no matter how much he tried to change, one interaction with Stiles and he was falling right back into old habits. The smell of Stiles’ annoyance was clear and struck at the very core of Jackson, making him feel regret and a weird stab of nostalgia.

They shook hands, Jackson careful not to grip too tightly. Stiles’ palm slipped dry and warm against his.

Stiles seemed resigned when he said, “Okay.”

Jackson hoped he wasn't going to regret it later.

 

Jackson spent the whole first day at college thinking, in the back of his mind, that Scott was going to show up and demand his allegiance, as far fetched as that seemed. Less crazy, Jackson expected at least some alpha to come sniffing around, demanding submission and threatening him. Times like these, he wished he hadn't let his friendship with Danny fizzle out.

It would have been nice to have an ally.

In England, Jackson had had to deal with Reggie, the thirty-something alpha that lived three houses down from where Jackson's parents had chosen to live. It had sucked, but they'd eventually learned to get along in mutual disdain for one another. There were no alphas here, looking to intimidate or expand, as far as Jackson could tell.

As if Stiles could read his mind, he spoke up. “There aren't any established packs here, as far as I know.” He was so nonchalant about it, fiddling with his Xbox setup before he even finished unpacking his clothes.

Jackson looked at him, too quickly and possibly too openly relieved, from his own desk. “What? How do you know?”

Stiles’ smile was something secretive, a thing Jackson never would have given him credit for in the past. “I have my connections.” The façade fell as he shrugged. “Seriously though, it's a college town. Lots of new people in and out all the time. Even if there is a core pack here, they don't seem to be advertising it. So if you were worried…”

Jackson snorted. “Yeah, right.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “ _Anyway_ , you shouldn't have to deal with any posturing—other than whatever douche bro bullshit you usually pull on your own.” He did a thing with his eyebrows as he looked Jackson over that screamed _case in point_. There wasn't any real sting to his words, though.

Jackson paused. “Great.” He said the word flatly, but inside he was relieved.

When Stiles scoffed and his scent went sour, Jackson realized it wasn't the reaction he was expected to give. The moment passed and Jackson stole another look at Stiles from the corner of his eye. Less than twenty-four hours and things already felt weird and wrong-footed.

 

Managing a nightly routine proved difficult when Stiles seemed allergic to going to bed at a sane hour. Ten and eleven o'clock passed by without any indication that Stiles was tired of playing his game and texting on his phone. By midnight, Jackson was irritated and feeling stupid for wanting to go to bed when Stiles was still clearly enamored with the idea of staying up all hours of the night without facing the disproving look or word of his dad.

Going to bed that first night had been hard. Before he became a werewolf, he had trouble sleeping when he and Danny would have sleepovers. When Lydia stayed with him, there hadn't been a whole lot of actual sleeping. After he got his heightened senses, sleeping in the same room as someone else became even harder. Less because of the general noise a human body created and more because Jackson felt even more on high-alert than he had been before.

While he was stronger and faster than most people now, he could smell intention and he could hear deception. It didn't do a whole lot to calm the paranoia Jackson had before Derek bit him.

Jackson had been taking care of himself, even if it was technically under his parents’ roof and with their money, since he was fourteen. The shine of staying up late had worn off when he found himself awake at three in the morning, covered in blood, and no memory of how he got there.

“It's ten to one.” Jackson bit the words out, feeling a little ridiculous when he sat up in his bed, the covers bunched around his waist.

He had taken a shower and his hair was still damp. A drop of water rolled down his forehead, and he swiped at it with the palm of his hand before combing his fingers back through his hair. The glare he gave Stiles’ amused look was obviously lacking.

“You learned to tell time. Nice.” Stiles smirked at him, game paused because he was a little shit, but he was paying attention. “I think it's only on the hour that you're traditionally supposed to state the time.”

Jackson thought about reminding Stiles of the little truce they had agreed to earlier, but honestly this was the brattiest Stiles had been. Instead, Jackson huffed because he couldn’t do _nothin_ g. “Go to bed.” He used his most authoritative tone, but Stiles was still Stiles. So all Jackson got in return was a disbelieving look.

“Dude, did you turn into a ninety year old grandpa over in England? Are you still jet lagged? Classes don't even start until Monday, and it's barely one in the morning on a _Friday_.”

Jackson glared harder at Stiles. “I'm aware of what day of the week it is and when classes start. _Go to bed, Stiles.”_

“Turn the lights out, dude. I'm already using my headphones. You won't even know I'm here if you're so hard up for sleep.” There was a smile tugging at the corner of Stiles' mouth.

Jackson stared at him for a moment.

He was being made fun of, but there was barely any annoyance in Stiles’ body language or tone. Stiles smelled almost _content_. When Jackson realized Stiles was not spoiling for a fight, something unraveled a little inside.

He tugged at his blankets and didn’t know what to say. So all he did was sigh and lie down with his back against the wall. He told Stiles to shut the lights off himself.

“Okay, princess.” Stiles chuckled before the room went mostly dark, illuminated by the blue hue cast from the TV.

Jackson could see just fine without the light, and he caught the way Stiles smiled. He smothered his face in his pillow, confident that Stiles couldn't see the humiliation.

Somehow, he slept. Waking up wasn't as terrifying as it could have been. It wasn’t peaceful by any definition, though.

Stiles is what woke Jackson up, long before the alarms or even the sun breaking through the window. Stiles’ heartbeat had been steady all day yesterday and through the night, erratic from his medication maybe, but predictable. The rhythm of it, below the murmur of the noise from his headphones, had lulled Jackson to sleep last night.

Now, Jackson blinked awake on the alert. He didn't feel challenged or in danger but he felt _something_ —defensive and almost insulted.

His claws were cutting through the tips of his fingers and he could feel the quick shift of fang over tooth before he even realized what was happening.

When he sprang up from bed to land in a crouch on the floor, there was nothing to meet him, however. It was just Stiles thrashing under his covers, tears tracking down his cheeks as his teeth ground together and whimpers escaped his throat.

Jackson froze in place, staring at the other boy for a long moment before another whimper broke through his surprise. Quickly, Jackson's claws and fangs retracted. He spared a moment of bitter gratitude that Stiles hadn't seen him overreacting to a nightmare. Even still, Jackson found himself moving over to Stiles’ bed and cautiously sitting on the very edge to call his name.

Stiles didn't respond at first. One of his fists connected with Jackson's thigh, but not enough to sting. He tried thinking about the right way to approach the situation. _Don't wake up someone when they're having a nightmare_. Or was that sleepwalking?

Jackson chewed his bottom lip before he gently pinned Stiles to the bed and said, “Stiles, wake up. You're dreaming. Wake up!”

More struggling and Stiles almost headbutted him, but Jackson was stronger. When he climbed over Stiles’ body to pin his legs down too, finally the thrashing ended. Stiles’ eyes were shut tight, still crying.

Jackson thought he was awake now, based on the cadence of his heart and the sudden sour stench of humiliation, but for once Jackson decided to be kind.

“Stiles, come on. You're okay.” The words felt off in his mouth, but he said them anyway. He searched Stiles’ tense expression.

Stiles’ body relaxed beneath his fractionally and Jackson let up enough so Stiles could wipe at his face. While Stiles rubbed his palms aggressively over his eyes, scrubbing away the tears and the fear, Jackson swung his leg over and went back to his own bed.

Maybe he shouldn't have done that. Jackson hated the uncertainty.

Stiles yanked his covers up and turned onto his side, but he didn't turn away from Jackson in the dim light between them. “Sorry for freaking out.” His words came out dully.

Jackson stared at him. He could smell the grief and the guilt rolling off him. “Whatever.” He rolled onto his back so he couldn't look at Stiles anymore.

A low level fear still coursed through him even as Stiles’ anxiety started to slowly evaporate. Waking up like that and having to wake Stiles up from his nightmare felt like some kind of heavy-handed irony.

 

He ended up turning off his alarms and getting up a half hour later to go run just so he wouldn't be stuck in that room with ghosts of his past. With each foot strike against the pavement, Jackson wondered how hard it would be to convince his parents that the lapsed restraining order needed to be reinstated. His life would be so much easier if he didn't have to live with Stiles sharing the same space, taking up more than his fair share of Jackson's thoughts.

In the end, he decided not to say anything to them about Stiles. He was vague in his answers, telling them he got along okay with his roommate. His mom sent him a _that's so good to hear_ text message that he ignored.

 

Stiles wasn't anywhere to be seen when Jackson finally got back. He'd capped off his run with a quick shower in the athletics building before pulling his sweaty clothes back on and grabbing a banana nut muffin and a pint of milk from the caf. By that time, it was almost ten, still earlier than he expected Stiles to be awake, much less out of the room.

When he shucked his clothes off and opened the door to his closet, his own reflection in the cheap Walmart mirror tacked to the back of the door caught his attention. The mirror had been there when he moved in. In the upper left corner there is half of a peace symbol sticker left over from someone's sloppy removal job.

He took in his appearance, noting that he looked the same as he always did: muscles defined, hair styled even if all he had to work with was water, and expression tense. Behind him, he could see the mess of Stiles’ open closest, where shoe boxes spilled out of the bottom and hoodies and flannel shirts were stuffed haphazardly in a hanging shelf unit.

He didn't know why he did it, but he twisted and reached back for one of the hoodies. It was red, which would stand out, but it was worn and the cuffs were a little bit frayed. Jackson pulled it on without slipping a t-shirt on first. He zipped it up over the shorts he had already pulled on.

When he flipped the hood up over his forehead, Jackson's nose was flooded with Stiles’ scent. That musky, woodsy, copper scent. Stiles had bled in this hoodie. He’d been through a lot while wearing it, Jackson could tell in the chemosignals left behind, even after multiple washings.

A lump rose up in his throat and he almost ripped the hoodie back off. It wasn’t his jacket and he didn't even know why he put it on. Instead of listening to reason, he pushed the sleeves up and grabbed his sunglasses off his desk. After sliding into some sandals, he grabbed his wallet and headed for the student bookstore.

There was more important shit he needed to be thinking about and doing.

Three hours in line and over fifteen hundred dollars later, Jackson had his textbooks and lab access codes. Even if it wasn't his money, he had balked at the amount for a stack of books and a couple keysmash letter codes.

He heard everyone else grumbling about it too. As he swiped the credit card his parents gave him, he vaguely wondered how Stiles was paying for his shit. Did he have a scholarship? Had his dad's police job actually paid enough for him to have a savings?

Jackson came back to the room in a sour mood, overwarm as the sun had beat down on him on the walk back.

While he unlocked the door, a girl caught his eye at the end of the hall. He didn’t know why he looked up, but when he did, her dark eyes drew him in. She sauntered over, smiling at him like she wanted to eat him for dessert. Jackson straightened up and slipped on a smile of his own. It had been a while since he hooked up with anyone.

“You are _hot.”_ She opened up with the obvious and her gaze dragged up and down his body for a long second.

She was gorgeous herself, all long legs capped with tiny cotton shorts and a modest sized chest beneath a thin t-shirt that exposed a sliver of stomach. It was her heart shaped face and pouting lips that topped it off.

Jackson shifted his bag of books as he opened the door. “Wanna do something about it?”

She licked her bottom lip and stepped forward as her eyes flashed from deep brown to bright gold. Her scent was still interested but there was something suddenly _sharp_ about it that turned Jackson's stomach.

“Are you gonna show me your eyes, pup?” She purred the words out, a finger dragging down his cheek.

One claw popped out, scratching lightly along his skin as she laughed at him. Jackson snarled and tossed his bag into the room without looking before he yanked the door shut again. It took considerable effort not to react the way she wanted him to, not to flip out right there at the challenge.

Instead he pushed into her space and gently pulled her hand away. “Whatever you're looking for, I'm not it.”

He had a sudden vision of some faceless alpha stalking back here and challenging him for insulting their beta. Jackson was an omega, had always had to fight tooth and nail to keep from being put down or taken out. He hated that he couldn't hide his scent from other werewolves the way they could hide theirs from him.

The beta rolled her eyes, and stepped back as if it was her idea. Maybe she'd decided he wasn't worth the effort. “I just wanted to have some fun,” she gave him another wistful once-over, “With someone who could take being a little rough.”

Jackson knew what she meant, and he _could_ take it rough, fuck like bruises and cuts and bites didn't matter. But it wasn't what he wanted right then, especially from a wolf he didn't know at all.

“Keep looking.” He focused on slipping his key lanyard over his neck.

Instead of leaving, the girl crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. “You got a girlfriend? Boyfriend?” Her scent shifted from hungry to mildly curious, a whiplash of a change. She nodded at him. “You smell like someone else's scent, not just yours.”

“Rude.” He mumbled to himself, ears heating up at the reminder that he stole one of Stiles’ hoodies.

To her he said, “I share a room with someone else. Of course I'm going to have a different scent.” He poured as much derision into his tone as possible. “Nice chatting with you, but you can leave now.”

She smirked. “Bye, Jackson.” And then she was sauntering back down the hall the way she'd come.  

In the room, Jackson sat down heavily at his desk and covered his face in his hands. It hadn't been a direct challenge but it had been _something_. He doesn't know if that girl was affiliated with any other wolves on campus or not. But he hated the fact that she'd picked him out and come sniffing around.

Jackson loved sex and he liked meaningless sex just fine. But he didn't like being hunted, hated that even as a werewolf—an apex predator—he could still be seen as prey.

He inhaled deeply in an attempt to calm himself and let go of the altercation. Stiles’ scent washed over him anew. It was in the fabric of the hoodie where the sleeves had fallen down his arms again. Jackson pulled the collar up and tucked his face down to suck in a mouthful of their combined scent.

It helped, and  while Jackson still felt pathetic, he was calmer. He wished Stiles was back.

  


They made it through another night and Sunday without incident. Jackson had shoved Stiles’ hoodie back into his closet not long before the other boy came back to the dorm. He hadn't noticed it missing. Jackson never said anything about the beta down the hall, even though he'd wanted to accuse Stiles of lying. He knew Stiles’ information couldn't be a hundred percent right, not when it wasn't Stiles’ job to keep up with who's who.

Jackson got his reading done and Stiles flip flopped between looking through seemingly every text book in the room at once and killing shit on his video game. The night wasn't interrupted by any obvious nightmares, and Jackson didn't steal any more clothes.

It was normal.

 

“Okay,” Stiles said later on Sunday. “We gotta figure something out about this sleeping thing. What's your class schedule?”

He was dressed in a pair of athletic shorts and a BHHS lacrosse t-shirt that was annoyingly distracting to Jackson. His hair was rumpled, uncombed all day except for the fingers he occasionally ran through it. When he moved to lean against the edge of Jackson's desk so they were less than a foot apart, Jackson had a sudden urge to fit his hand around Stiles’ throat just to feel the pulse beneath his finger tips.

“I have an eight AM tomorrow.” Jackson bit the words out.

He'd been irritated when he'd landed what seemed to be nothing but early classes even though he logged onto the site barely three minutes after it opened.

Stiles grimaced like he sympathized. “Fucking freshmen get shafted with the early classes.” He grabbed a dry erase marker off Jackson's desk and walked over to the whiteboard on the back of their door and started drawing out a grid labeled Monday-Friday.

Jackson watched him write out his class schedule, jotting down a slanted S next to each of his blocks. When he was done, Stiles held the marker out expectantly to Jackson.

“Your turn.”

Stiles didn't go back to sit down, but stayed next to him, almost leaning in as he watched Jackson sketch out his own schedule. He wrote J next to his with a capital letter.

“Huh. So this might not be as bad as I was worried.” Stiles tapped the board under Monday.

Both of them had classes in the eight and ten o'clock blocks.

Stiles looked over at him, close enough that Jackson was surrounded by the warm scent of him, and smiled. “I guess you can make sure I'm up in time.”

“I'm not your keeper,” Jackson reminded Stiles, shoving experimentally at him just enough to make Stiles snort.

“I can take care of myself, but your early bird ass keeps getting up at like the crack of dawn.” He slapped the back of his hand over Jackson's chest, and his eyes lingered on where they were touching for a moment like he was shocked at himself.

Jackson didn’t blame him. With all their history, Jackson still expected anger to bubble up. There was nothing...nothing like anger though. Instead, he felt pleased.

“If you didn't stay up all night, you wouldn't think eight thirty is 'the crack of dawn.’” Jackson tossed the marker back onto his desk to keep from doing anything else.

Stiles had a speculative look in his eye when Jackson turned back to him.

“Are we friends?” Stiles waved a hand between the two of them. “This feels kinda like we're friends.” He made a face. “Is that weird?”

Jackson raised an eyebrow. “It's weird _now_.” But he smiled anyway.

Stiles’ answering grin made Jackson's stomach flip and his wolf strain forward.

 

It was apparently Jackson's turn to have a nightmare that night. He dreamed about Gerard Argent and Matt Daehler, ripping his claws through people and washing the blood off later. As far as nightmares went, it wasn't the worst he'd had.

Stiles woke him up at three forty by shaking his shoulder. Jackson didn't realize what was going on until he had his head tucked into Stiles’ lap and a hand landed on the back of his head hesitantly.

“Hey?” Stiles’ asked quietly. When a shudder rolled through Jackson, his fingers dug lightly into Jackson's hair. Fingertips massaged at his scalp in soothing circles.

He would have appreciated the floor opening up and swallowing him, but that didn't mean he was willing to pull away just yet. He stayed curled around Stiles’ waist for several long moments as he recovered. When he finally rolled away, it was to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling. Stiles’ scent smelled concerned.

“You good?” At least Stiles wasn't asking him about the nightmare.

Between the two of them, they had enough baggage to know trying to take each other's on was a fruitless endeavor. Jackson sighed. He could smell the salt of his own tears in the fabric of Stiles’ shorts.

“Yeah. Go back to bed.” Jackson looked over at Stiles and found him with a wrinkle between his eyebrows. “Don't worry about it.”

Stiles patted his hand over Jackson's chest. It was comforting. He didn't know why or when Stiles decided he wanted to touch Jackson so easily, but the weight of those fingers on his skin soothed. Jackson wanted to press his own hand over Stiles'.

He watched the other boy get up and move back to his own bed. Jackson’s skin still felt slick with blood, and the edges of his tongue felt numb. He took several measured breaths, focusing on Stiles’ scent as he forcibly cleared his mind so he could go back to sleep.

 

The beta down the hall kept showing up in Jackson's peripheral over the next week. It wouldn't have been odd considering they lived on the same floor, but it was unsettling that she seemed to always be looking at him.

Jackson knew he was attractive. The words _“I'm everyone's type”_ bounced through his memory bitterly. He was good looking, even beautiful to some people, but the glint in her eye wasn't about sexual conquest. Jackson avoided her even as he stalked her social media profiles enough to learn her name and hometown. She lived close by, and there were three or four people that recurred in most of her posted photos.

He'd seen all of them around campus.

 

The Thursday, he came back to an empty dorm room but the smell of _someone else_ lingered in the air. Jackson stood there between his and Stiles’ beds and told himself it could have been a classmate or even a new friend of Stiles’. It probably wasn't an intruder.

That lasted about as long as it took him to realize that whoever had been in the room went through Stiles’ closet. The door was ajar and the stench of smug amusement wafted towards him. He opened the door all the way and realized they must have touched everything in Stiles’ closet.

It was some kind of sick joke, a threat against the human Jackson cared about.

He grabbed an armful of clothes and pulled them to his chest, inhaling deeply. It smelled wrong on the surface, but he could still smell Stiles. He started yanking everything off hangers and dumping them into the floor. Jackson pulled at things until the closet rod was a skeleton of wire hangers and he was sweating with anxiety and desperation, anger building up enough that his claws sprang free without his noticing.

He sat down suddenly right there in the middle of the clothes like some sad, fucked up nest. Jackson stared unseeing at a grey and white plaid hoodie by his left foot before he picked it up slowly and brought it to his nose.

The dorm door creaked open, revealing Stiles stumbling inside. He stopped short and grabbed for the closest desk chair to steady himself before he tripped over the mess Jackson had made.

“I feed and water you and take you for walkies and yet you still chew on my stuff.” Stiles’ eyes were wide despite the knee-jerk jab he let loose. He shook his head. “ _Dude_.”

Jackson dropped the jacket he was holding and stood up quickly. There was nowhere to hide, and in that moment he really did feel like a sad little puppy caught by its owner. The feeling  made him grind his teeth.

“Someone has been in here. Did you let someone in?” Jackson went on the defensive, crossing his arms.

Stiles wiped at his forehead like he didn't compute what Jackson asked. “And they decided to trash my wardrobe? Jackson, c'mon. What the fuck?” He didn't sound angry, just really confused.

Jackson squared his shoulders and forced his claws to retract. “Did you know that Jessica Ramsey down the hall is a werewolf?” He spit  the words out.

Stiles frowned. “Who? I mean, statistically it's not _improbable_ that we share a hall with another were…”

“She's in a pack that goes to our college, Stiles. She knows I'm an omega.” Jackson snorted derisively when he saw Stiles wince. “I think one of them came in here and issued a challenge.”

Stiles slumped against the desk. “I thought all this stuff would be over when I left Beacon Hills.” He sighed and massaged his temples. When he looked back up at Jackson, he was still frowning. “I'm sorry. I didn't know. I thought it wouldn't be a big deal because it's such a big campus.”

He scanned the floor around Jackson's feet. “What kind of challenge involves dumping my clothes in the floor though? Did they take anything, tag the place?” His eyes jumped to the walls, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

“It wasn't... it's fine.” Jackson clammed up, not sure how to get out of explaining his irrational behavior. But it hadn't _felt_ irrational at the time.

He bent down to start picking up the clothes. After a beat Stiles joined him.

“Someone was definitely in the room though? Did you smell it? Did they smell any way in particular?”

“Like they wanted to make a point.” Jackson answered darkly. He gripped a shirt tight in his hand and looked over at Stiles. “They touched your stuff. Everything.”

Stiles’ eyes widened and his scent became bitter with annoyance. “Why would they do that?”

Jackson stared at him. “It's a challenge, kind of. Taunting me.” He squeezed his eyes shut and tossed the shirt on to Stiles’ bed. “I need…”

Silence, and then Stiles prompted him. “What?”

In a flash, he had Stiles pressed up against the wall, face pushed into the crook of his neck. His hands slipped under the shirt hem until his fingers brushed against skin.

Stiles stayed ramrod straight and barely breathing for a second before he understood Jackson wasn't hurting him. Then hands came up to awkwardly pat at Jackson's back. “Um...I feel like I was not adequately prepared for this,” he muttered to the both of them.

Jackson let out a huff of a laugh before pressing his forehead under Stiles’ jaw. It took everything in him not to open his mouth and drag his tongue up the length of Stiles’ neck to taste and smell him at once, ground himself in the security of Stiles being _right there_. He finally pulled back, not quite meeting Stiles’ gaze. “Me either.”

It was true. Jackson wasn't prepared for anything. He'd demanded the bite from Derek and then spent a few months as a lizard slave to a spiteful and dangerous teenage boy before being transferred to a spiteful and crazy geriatric. After that, his parents had whisked him away to England where he'd had to stumble through every full moon alone.

Jackson spent most of his time pretending to be in the thick of things while keeping everyone at arm's length because he didn't know who to trust or how to trust himself not to hurt them. Somehow, Stiles had slipped through the cracks and someone else had already figured that out.

Stiles didn't move away from the wall when Jackson backed off until just his fingertips lingered. Instead, he lifted a hand up to curve around Jackson's shoulder. “Hey, whatever is going on, we can figure it out. I'll call Scott if I have to.”

Jackson recoiled at that, stepping away fully. “Scott isn't my alpha. I don't have one. And even if you called him, Beacon Hills is five hours away.”

Stiles ran a hand through his hair. “So what's their angle? Do you think they're trying to hurt us? Should I be putting down mountain ash or something?” He shook his head. “Not that keeping you out if the room when you come back is a good thing.”

Jackson started picking up the rest of the clothes just to give himself something to do. He tossed them on Stiles’ bed.

“It's a _joke_ to them. Fuck with the omega and see if they can run me off or get me to react badly.” Jackson growled. “It's not the first time I've had to deal with this sort of thing.”

It was just the first time anyone had a concrete target to use against him.

Stiles scoffed. “I can't believe _you're_ being bullied. I mean talk about cosmic karma.” At least he didn't sound happy about his pronouncement.

Jackson still sent a glare his way.

“Hey, I'm just saying it's pretty fucking ironic is all.” Stiles raised his hands before grabbing a shirt off the floor. “We'll figure out something. For now though, you gotta make sure you keep a level head. The full moon is coming up. What do you usually do?”

Jackson sat on the edge of his bed. “Run in the woods as far away from people as possible. I don't think that's going to happen though. Whatever forest we have close by is going to be occupied.”

Stiles made a face. “So we will go further away.”

“What do you mean _we_?” Jackson asked incredulously. “Last time I checked, you aren't a werewolf.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and sat down next to Jackson. “No, I'm not. But, you don't actually expect me to let you go off on your own when there is apparently a pack hanging around trying to fuck with you, do you?”

Jackson just stared at him. He wondered if this was what it was like to be considered one of Stiles’ friends. He wanted to trust it, but he still couldn't quite bring himself to go all in on it.

“I'm fine on my own. I've been doing it that way for like two years.” Jackson looked away, unable to hold Stiles’ intense gaze.

“But you didn't have me then. And we're friends. And I don't let my friends go off in risky adventures by themselves.”

Jackson couldn't help but smile, still not looking at Stiles. “You're stupid. Oh my God.” He tilted his head to look back at Stiles. “How have you survived this long?”

“I had this douchebag jerk in my class that liked to make my life hell in elementary and middle school. Grew a thick skin.” Stiles was teasing, but a thread of guilt still rose up in Jackson. It was easier to let go when Stiles bumped his shoulder against Jackson's. “Do you know where you wanna run yet?”

Jackson shrugged. He'd been putting off thinking about it, stupidly enough. “Not really sure. I was...maybe Beacon Hills.” He didn't know why the words popped out of his mouth because he hadn't actually been thinking about going back there.

Thankfully, Stiles didn't react immediately and start suggesting they call McCall for sure to set up plans. He just leaned back on the bed, elbows holding himself up.

“What about chaining yourself up? Did you ever try that?” He winced when Jackson jerked to look at him. “It's what Malia did, what Scott did until he could control himself.”

Jackson wrinkled his nose. “Okay, first? Who is Malia? And secondly, I can control myself just fine. Running on the full moon just helps. I distract myself from hurting people that way.”  

Stiles groaned. “I forgot...you missed a whole shit ton of stuff after you left.” He sighed heavily as if he was gearing up to give Jackson the Sparks Notes version of whatever happened after he went to England.

“So Peter has a daughter who turned out to be a werecoyote and she spent like half her life in coyote form.” He raised a hand to stop Jackson from asking any questions. “I ended up helping her deal with the full moon as a human by chaining her up and helping her realize she has control over herself. She also kinda was my girlfriend for a while, but you don't need to know that.”

Jackson processed what Stiles said, trying not to focus on the girlfriend bit. There were more important things to think about.

“Peter procreated?” He couldn't wrap his mind around that, or the fact that Stiles dated Peter's _kid_. He raised an eyebrow at Stiles. “You really like danger, huh?”

Stiles actually blushed at that. “Whatever. The point is, we could find you a nice basement somewhere and some sturdy chains and lock you up without having to worry about you running into asshole wolves.”

“Stiles, I don't need to be locked up. I don't want to be locked up. That…” He shook his head. “That's the last thing I want during a full moon.”

It had been a long time since anyone had control over him, but Jackson wasn't over it. And he wasn't going to volunteer for anything like that again. Not even with Stiles.

Stiles must have recognizd something in his tone. He laid a hand on Jackson's arm. “Okay. It was just an option. And hey, it's great you're not having trouble controlling yourself. Scott doesn't need help with it anymore either. And Liam is doing pretty good, too.” When Jackson gave him an annoyed look, he said, “Right. Another person you don't know.”

He sat up and crossed his legs so he could look at Jackson fully. “You might not have a pack or an alpha, but you've got me now. We're friends and I made a promise to not make your life any harder than it is.”

Jackson wanted to pull Stiles close again and press his nose right back against his skin. The confidence rolling off Stiles was heady. Not only that, but Jackson realized just how quickly he was  starting to feel _safe_ around Stiles when it had been too long since he felt secure around anyone.

He kept the thought to himself though, protective of the newness and afraid that if Stiles knew, that he might laugh in Jackson's face.

“Sorry about your stuff.” He figured it was good start at least, apologizing.

Stiles shrugged. “They're still wearable.” His expression turned darker for a moment. “I'd like to know who the fuck it was that came in our room though, and how they did it. Was the lock messed with?”

Jackson watched Stiles examine the door. He should have checked himself, but he'd been too incensed to do more than throw a tantrum.

“I'm pretty sure I know who did it. That werewolf down the hall, Jessica.” He could just faintly smell her still. He wrinkled his nose.

Stiles let out an annoyed huff. “Jessica, huh?”

 

The weekend hit and Jackson didn't see hide nor hair of Jessica or any of her pack. He'd been keeping an eye out for them, looking to make sure he saw them coming if they tried doing anything to him (or Stiles) again. Stiles went home, putting up a good fight in trying to get Jackson to come home with him before leaving.

But Jackson decided they needed the short break from each other. The crush—and there was no way to deny it any longer—was reaching middle school proportions. Back then he’d hid it under layers and layers of denial that he has slowly been unpacking over the past two years.

Turning into a werewolf with control issues and a temper kind of dictated that Jackson figure his shit out if he didn't want to end up on the wrong end of a hunter's gun or in prison. But now that he was attempting not to stuff and deflect his feelings anymore, the crush that had reared its head once more felt too all-consuming.

So he told Stiles that he was going to stay at the dorm over the weekend and that he should go have a good time with his dad. Jackson still wasn't sure if he even wanted to go back to Beacon Hills.

He had a lot of studying to do already, and he’d seen Stiles’ schedule. He didn't know how that guy was getting anything done with his workload. But Stiles stayed up all hours of the night, usually holing up in the library so he didn't keep Jackson awake. It didn't stop Jackson from waking up when he heard Stiles’ key in the lock and smelled the exhaustion in his scent when he face-planted in bed. It was a thoughtful gesture though.

Jackson wore one of Stiles’ dumb plaid shirts on Saturday. When he rested his head on his arm, he could smell Stiles’ worn-in scent. He wasn't creepy enough to sleep in Stiles’ bed while he was gone, but he did sleep with a different shirt tucked up against his chest.

On Sunday, he did laundry and made sure to put everything back where he found it even though what he really wanted was to keep a shirt for himself.

 

“How was your weekend?” Stiles asked later, when they were eating in the cafeteria.

Jackson knew Stiles had friends there. He'd seen people wave at him, and Stiles met up with a few others for study sessions or coffee or something. But dinner always seemed to be just the two of them. Jackson didn't like interacting with people much, especially because he could figure out so much about them from their scent. He was grateful for Stiles though.

He shrugged in answer. “Fine. Studied. Worked out.”

Stiles eyed him for a long beat. “My dad says you're welcome to come over anytime you want.” a smile crossed his lips, “Which is kind of hilarious considering our past.”

Snorting, Jackson said, “Yeah, things have changed a lot.” And some other things hadn't changed at all.

Stiles looked around them, conspiratorially, for a moment before leaning in. “Hey, do you see any, you know, _others_?” His words came out quietly.

“What are you talking about?” Jackson asked, amused by Stiles’ sudden cloak and dagger routine. He sighed. “No, there aren't any other wolves around. Why?”

“Good.” He sat back in his chair, scent going bright with pleasure. Jackson inhaled deeply. “They haven't been around lately? Haven't bothered you?”

Immediately, Jackson went on alert. “What did you do?” What could Stiles even do, but put himself in danger and risk getting hurt? The thought made Jackson queasy. “Don't mess with them, okay? I'll handle whatever.”

Stiles shook his head. “Don't worry. I just had a little chat with the alpha, Lily.” His smile was sharp. “No one is going to be messing with you or me anymore.”

He wanted to believe Stiles, but it seemed too good to be true. And even if Stiles had somehow negotiated with the pack, that didn't mean there wouldn't be some other kind of trouble coming their way. Jackson's life was never truly easy, and it didn't seem like Stiles’ was either.

“You can't do that. You can't just jump in the middle of things when you don't know what's going on.” Not that Jackson even knew everything. He didn't know what the pack’s endgame was supposed to be for the initial challenge or the stalking. It couldn't have been good though. “I don't want you getting hurt.”

Something soft flickered in Stiles’ eyes for a second before he shrugged. “It's fine. I promise.”

When Stiles stretched out his leg beneath the table so his ankle pressed against Jackson's, it felt too good to push away.

 

The closer the full moon got, the more restless Jackson became. He hated the week leading up to full moons more than he hated the actual night of. At least he'd had classes to distract him, tests and mountains of reading to do. Some of his stuff was available in podcast form so he was able to run while listening. Stiles found that out for him, and suggested a good app to use.

Living with Stiles, while difficult because of the crush, was a lot nicer than Jackson would have thought. The week of the full moon, they both seemed to bounce around. And the promise Stiles had made, of taking care of the campus pack issue, was holding true. Jackson still hadn't seen anyone lurking around. Every time he passed Jessica in the building, her scent turned _fearful_.

He wanted to know just what Stiles had done, yet he never pressed the issue. He'd decided concentrating on his school work and refraining from wolfing out where anyone could see was more important.

Jackson stole another of Stiles’ shirts. He kept it in his pillow case, allowing himself for the week at least. Stiles didn't seem to notice it missing from collection. While it wasn't as nice as being able to wear it during the day, Jackson liked that he could catch a waft of Stiles’ scent from the shirt as he moved throughout the night, closer than the ten feet separating their beds.

 

“This is where we are going?” Jackson asked on Friday night. The sun was setting and they'd skipped their last class of the day in order to drive three hours away from town so they could make it before sunset.

The place Stiles had parked looked like it was set up for RV camping, not really conducive to werewolves who needed to stay away from people. He gave Stiles a skeptical look.

“They are doing some renovations to the bathrooms so no one is staying here. C'mon, I wouldn't steer you wrong.” When Jackson's skepticism didn't lessen any, Stiles punched him enthusiastically on the thigh. “Grab your stuff. It's go time.”

Jackson rolled his eyes but didn't fight the smile that tugged at his lips as he pulled his gym bag from the back seat. Stiles smelled happy.

“What usually happens when you go with someone on the full moon? Or did you just chain up all your werewolf friends?” He asked as he rounded the Jeep to meet Stiles at the back.

“Ha ha.” He scoffed. “Here, make yourself useful and carry this.” He shoved two folding chairs at Jackson and picked up his own bag from the trunk before carefully closing the door and taking off towards the woods.

“Uh, what's all this?” Jackson followed anyway. It wasn't like he was going to say _no_ to Stiles keeping him company, even if it was a stupid and potentially dangerous idea. “What, are you camping? Is that your book bag?”

Stiles looked over his shoulder. “Might as well capitalize on my time, right?”

 

By the time they got their little camp site set up, the moon was high enough that Jackson kept popping his claws and had to roll his shoulders to relax the tension out of them. Stiles had a whole setup with a fire pit lit, a chair, blanket, and just in case, his books, phone, and a nerdy clip-on lamp run by batteries.

“I don't normally…” Jackson trailed off, unsure what to say. He'd already shucked off his shirt and changed into a pair of loose shorts, and all that was left was to actually run. He groaned. “Okay. Bye.”

Stiles had been squatting by the fire, poking it to get it going good, but he turned to rifle through his bag before standing back up. “Hey, wait a minute.”

Jackson had already shifted as far as he was able, fangs and claws and all, when Stiles came over to him carrying a balled up piece of fabric. “In case you need something to find your way back.” He was smirking as he shook out the shirt—one of Stiles’.

“What…” Jackson asked, face heating up when Stiles reached around him to tie the flannel shirt around his waist.

Stiles gave him a look. “Hey, I don't know how this part works. I've never actually gone on a run with anyone. And,” he raised an eyebrow, “I know you've been stealing my shirts.”

Jackson didn't know what to say to that. He thought he'd been careful and put everything back where he found it. Stiles wasn't supposed to find out.

“Hey, whoa.” Stiles wrapped a hand around Jackson's bicep to keep him from running off too quickly. “It's fine. A little odd, kind of? But I'm not mad about it. I assume it's like a comfort or pack kind of thing.”

Grinding his teeth, Jackson looked away for a moment then relented. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Stiles’ hand slid down Jackson's arm lightly to squeeze his hand. “Okay, cool. So if you get lost, just smell that so you can track me.” He grinned, teasing even if his heart was steady.

Jackson had to look away from him. “This doesn't match.” He plucked with his free hand at the fabric tied around his waist.

He was wearing blue shorts and the shirt was orange and grey plaid. When he chanced a glance back up at Stiles he couldn't look away from the humor on the other boy's face.

“Hey, it works.” Stiles shuffled forward until barely any space was left behind him. “You going to come back to me?”

Jackson's heart stuttered in his chest, but he shrugged. “It's not like I'm gonna run all the way back to the dorm. But yeah.” His voice came out deeper than he meant it to, hope coloring his tone even when he had no right. “I'll come back. To you.” He swallowed.

He watched Stiles lick his bottom lip once before Stiles said, “Good.”

Stiles stepped back and finally let go of Jackson's hand. “Have a nice run then. Don't kill too many bunnies.”

“Loser,” Jackson muttered the word fondly and took off before he could do anything else, like tackle Stiles to the ground and kiss him.

Stiles called out, “Harsh, princess!” He was laughing and it made Jackson's heart soar.

 

When he ran, especially shifted and under the sway of the full moon, time lost all meaning. Jackson was able to let his instincts and his senses take over as his worries and frustrations faded into the background of his mind. It could be some of the most peaceful moments of his life.

He'd expected the bloodlust that came from giving into the wolf, especially considering the death and destruction he had caused early in his were life. However, Jackson could control it. If he was careful, he could even keep from needing to shift at all. Doing so never felt good, so finding open, safe places to explore helped.

The night drifted and Jackson ran for miles at a steady pace that looped around the forest, always keeping Stiles at his center. When he stopped to drink from the river that cut through the East end, Jackson untied the shirt carefully to set it aside before cupping water in his hands and drinking. Afterwards, he pulled the shirt to his face and inhaled deeply.

Stiles hadn't washed the shirt since he wore it Wednesday, and Jackson had a complex vision of everything Stiles had done that day. Remnants were left in the scent that the fabric carried. Determination, happiness, lust, all of it was there for Jackson to breathe in and savor.

He felt warm and content despite the chill of the night. The thought of Stiles waiting for him and insisting on being there for him made a howl crawl up Jackson's throat that he didn't bother to stifle.

 

The sun was just barely starting to edge over the horizon when Jackson made his way back to their campsite. His fingers and mouth we're claw and fang free and his muscles were deliciously sore, if only for a few moments more until they completely healed.

Stiles was asleep on the ground, lying curled up in a sleeping bag with his pillow jammed under his head. Despite the deep sleep Jackson could tell he was in, Stiles jerked awake when Jackson unzipped his gym bag to find the t-shirt he'd packed.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Jackson tugged the shirt on, smiling at Stiles who just blinked at him blearily for a moment. “You can sleep some more, if you want.”

Stiles sat up, scrounging around with one hand until he found a half empty bottle of Mountain Dew to drink from. He took a sip, already shaking his head.

“No way. I didn't even mean to fall asleep.” He looks at Jackson expectantly. “So, how many bunnies did you end up eating. C'mon, tell the truth.”

Jackson scoffed and sat too close to Stiles on the sleeping bag. He took the offered soda. “None. I don't kill forest animals, Stiles, jeez.”

“None? Deer? Squirrels?” Stiles’ eyes crinkled in amusement. “No way. Did you challenge a mountain lion or something?”

Jackson gave in and hooked his arm over Stiles’ neck, pulling him in for a playful headlock. He was _happy_ , and that was such a rare occurrence that he didn't know what to think of the bubble it created inside. He tipped his head down to scent Stiles’ hair for the briefest of seconds before he let Stiles go at the other boy's insistence.

“Precious cargo, dude. Watch the hair.” Stiles ran his fingers through his hair, as if he could fix that disaster.

Jackson wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his chin on them. He was still looking at Stiles when he said, “Thanks, for last night and...everything. You don't have to be nice to me.”

Stiles held his gaze and spoke quietly. “I want to.” He turned to look towards the woods, unseeing, as he said, “After everything, all the shit we've been through, I wanted to try and make things as good as I could. Thanks for working with me. Living together could have turned out really shitty.” He was smiling to himself by the end.

Jackson agreed, making a sound and leaning to bump their shoulders together.

After a stretch of silence where they both watched the sun slowly make its way over the tree line, Jackson asked, “What did you say to Jessica?”

Stiles inhaled sharply then released his breath slowly. His scent turned darker, setting Jackson's nerves on edge for just a second, before Stiles nodded to himself. His scent went back to its usual lighter musky one and the goosebumps on Jackson's skin dissipated.

“Someday, I'll tell you about the nogitsune and the darkness, but I don't…” Stiles winced. “Suffice to say I gave them a reason to stay out of our way.” He kicked the ground with the heel of his foot, not meeting Jackson's eye.

“Nogit—okay.” Jackson let it go, deciding to trust Stiles. He chuckles. “So I guess you're some kind of badass then.”

Stiles smelled relieved, and he leaned a little more into Jackson as he teased, “I got you to act like a civil human being, didn't I? That takes some major skill.”

Jackson scoffed.

It wasn't strictly true, but Stiles was still a good reason for him to keep working at his problems. Stiles grounded him and lifted him up in ways Jackson hadn't felt since Lydia.

“I guess my shirt trick worked too.” Stiles reached out to stroke the shirt still tied around Jackson's waist.

He hadn't thought to take it off when he got back.

Jackson could hear the way Stiles’ heartbeat sped up and smell the nervousness in his scent. He looked into those brown eyes, still unable to believe his life has turned out the way it had—bringing him right back to his first crush and maybe to his second love.

“I didn't need it in order to find you, Stiles.” Jackson speaks quietly, hope almost choking him completely.

“Yeah?” Stiles leaned in just a little farther until his breath brushed against Jackson's mouth.

Jackson didn't bother with confirming Stiles’ question. He pressed his lips to Stiles in a firm kiss.

It was perfect.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Madness_ by Muse. 
> 
> The clothes stealing is a direct result of clotpolesonly' gif set [here](http://clotpolesonly.tumblr.com/post/168654700856/stackson-week-day-1-enemies-to-lovers-for). It's AMAZING.  
> [Come hang out with me on Tumblr](http://the-redcrate.tumblr.com).


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